


Every Little Thing He Does is Magic

by AlexWSpark



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: ASMRtist Yuuri Katsuki, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Engineer Victor Nikiforov, Go forth and enjoy the fluff, If you know my writing you know this will be a fun time without any undue surprises, M/M, No clue how to tag this so more tags in the future
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-06-16 05:56:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15430464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexWSpark/pseuds/AlexWSpark
Summary: Victor goes in search of something to cure his insomnia, and finds more than he ever bargained for.





	Every Little Thing He Does is Magic

**Author's Note:**

> All the super cool postcards to [Aj](http://ajwolf84.tumblr.com/) for the beta <3

**California**

Victor is _done_.

Fuck it all, he’s giving up. At least he will be just as soon as he can unwind himself from his frankly atrocious execution of a lotus pose. It takes more than a few frustrated grunts, a flatout whine, and an aborted cartwheel to right himself, all of which encourages Makkachin to roll onto her back in a perfect mimic of his complete lack of zen.

“I hope you’re not laughing at me.” He grumbles, pampering her belly with a series of vigorous rubs. She surrenders all too willingly to the attention, tongue lolling out in gratitude for the unexpected treat. Victor sighs; if she gets used to this, he's in trouble; there’s absolutely no way he can keep up with Makkachin at two in the morning on a regular basis.

Make that three a.m., actually. The numbers on his clock are more taunting crimson than harmless red. There might not be a _tick tock_ to add to the mockery, but Victor sure as hell can feel the seconds prickling at his skin. Clearly the universe is eager to watch him squirm in perpetuity because he’s about to add yet another sleepless night to an already annoyingly long list of them.

Ever since he landed that coveted interview with Moiety Inc., his mind has raced with every possible thing that could go right _and_ wrong. And he doesn’t mind that compulsion; being overly prepared is simply innate to him. He's wrote the bible on contingencies – is a savant when it comes to getting his way.

Except now, when all he really wants is to fucking sleep but his brain refuses to acknowledge any kind of off-switch.

He lays bareback across the rug and makes faux snow angels in the fluff, an unoiled machine creaking with every sluggish stretch. His exhaustion from the neck down is more than a token protest now, and understandably so since he's running off of a few hours of rest in the last week. Despite the achievement of him memorizing every inch of Moiety’s business model (for the third time, _fuck_ ), his body is pretty much ready to stage an all-out riot on account of his brain’s bullshit.

Thirty-ish hours from now is the first of three in-person meetings with Moiety’s research and development team, and Victor is out of options in dealing with his restlessness. Meditation did not take him to any cosmic plane. The chewable melatonin supplements that he snagged from the nearby Walgreens had a surprisingly pleasant taste for medication and their impact stopped there. And the slow-your-breathing trick was ineffective thanks to an excitable poodle who thought him sitting on the floor was an invitation to play. She gleefully scaled him from any angle she got her paws on in her, albeit adorable, attempts to pressure him into joining in on her fun.

He scrapes around the carpet for his phone and holds it over his face, swiping it listlessly out of sleep mode. His Instagram is overwhelmed with updates from his longtime friends, Christophe and Mila, both of whom are in the South Caribbean enjoying Barbados’ Crop Over festival. Their latest selfie includes the popular Thai DJ, Phichit Chulanont – _Lucky bastards,_ Victor pouts – and the three of them reenacting the ‘see no evil’ meme. Victor scrolls through his feed for a bit, the locations and colors and people all blurring in front of him as he steadily loses interest, that is until he recognizes four letters in an advertisement and his finger comes to an abrupt pause - ASMR.

Victor stares at the GIF of someone tapping rhythmically against a microphone. Didn’t his coworker, Alex, mention to him some time back about the ASMR phenomenon? Apparently they were videos designed to tap into your body’s natural reactions to consistent, relaxing sounds. Of course, the nature of those sounds were _very_ subjective.

“Close chewing is my favorite.” Alex gushed. “There’s something so irresistible about listening to someone chow down on fried chicken, and it’s even better if you’re wearing a pair of really good, noise cancelling headphones.” Victor had smiled politely, and kept his expression neutral for the rest of the conversation; he never went looking for the material based on that review alone.

But tonight he's desperate. Everything aches and his mind is a minefield and if relief means that he goes down the rabbit hole of some newfound fetish, then so be it. He’ll listen to anyone chomp down on any manner of food if it helps get him to sleep.

He switches apps, typing ‘AMSR’ into Youtube, and sighing when his search is helpfully corrected. He’s contemplating brewing some tea for his braking mind when the videos load, and God, the choices are both endless and much less frightening than his coworker implied. There’s mouth sounds, a variety of tapping and makeup triggers, card magic and video-game whispers, soft spoken science facts and cooking lessons...he curiously filters the choices based on new uploads that week. One thumbnail immediately catches his eye — a pair of feet clad in black figure skating boots, positioned with the toe pick parallel to the ice.

Victor hums in interest, the stories of his parents’ many ice skating escapades while they were dating the reason he hones in on that video. It loads and the short opening shows only an animated mug, steam billowing up, up and away, next to a pair of blue rimmed glasses and a miniature poodle nendoroid. Makkachin gives a lively woof at the sight of another dog.

“Hey, everyone.” A voice whispers, silky and soft, a conditioner for the soul. “Welcome back to my channel.”

The animation fades into the camera feed, capturing the speaker in frame, and Victor’s mouth goes wide and heart-shaped in appreciation. The video’s subject is incredibly charming with his boyish smile, ruffled hair and slightly too big glasses; a trifecta of natural beauty that makes for a wonderful viewing experience. On either side of him are two microphones, which he alternates in use as he speaks, drawing shapes across them with a medium sized brush. The long microphone scratches and continued introduction – “I have a special video for you tonight that was filmed by my best friend’s daughters. They are really excited to see your response to it.” – set Victor’s spine tingling, shivers splashing all the way to his thighs and down the length of his calves.

_Holy shit!_

Victor can’t remember the last time he felt doused in this kind of crisp playfulness, body sighing with every invigorating spread of gooseflesh. It's like a strawberry slushie on a warm and lazy Sunday, something he hasn’t had in a long time and God, if he isn’t craving the sweetness now. That and more of this person’s beautiful voice.

“My friend is a former Junior World Champion and gold medalist, and some of you may know her. I'll keep the surprise just a little bit longer so I can thank everyone who already submitted ideas for a celebratory video.” The man smiles, a bashful splash of crimson coloring his cheeks. “In case you missed it, I hit seven hundred and fifty thousand subscribers last week and I’m letting you all choose what I'll do to commemorate that. Details are linked in the description and it’s also on my Patreon. There are a few days left, so make sure you get your ideas in.”

Victor is an engineer and his Youtube history reflects as such, but he subscribes to Yuuri’s ASMR – _what a beautiful name_ – without a moment of hesitation. He’s still not sure how this whole ASMR experience will induce sleep but there’s no denying Yuuri’s soothing voice; there’s really nothing for Victor to lose at this hour listening to him.

With a long stretch, Victor picks himself off the floor and goes into his bedroom, Makkachin right at his side. He leaves a trail of his sweatpants and underwear near the foot of his bed, fluffing his hair as Yuuri takes a deep breath and says “It’s time to relax”. Victor sways to the the quiet music of his lilt, docking his phone on the bamboo stand and turning it towards the bed so he’ll have a better view when he lies down. By the time he crawls under the covers, blanketed on both sides by a squishy body pillow and Makkachin, Yuuri reveals the focus of his video. The scene switches to him standing in the center of an ice skating rink, tall and lean and squinting with silent laughter. He extends a hand to someone off camera, and she comes into view with an elegant shimmy across the ice, joining Yuuri in a deep bow before they begin moving in tandem.

There's no talking or music, only the deep lines carved over the surface; long, luscious sounds that reverberate another bout of tingles from scalp to toes. He exhales in pleasure, sinks into the mattress as the knots across his body give way to the refreshing bursts. Yuuri and his friend skate simple shapes and twirls, hands and arms moving in sophisticated harmony; it all comes together in a beautiful display of fundamental skills, and preserves the charm of their unorthodox score.

Victor idly pets Makkachin’s ear, admiring Yuuri’s lively and lovely movements; all of them seem to trail swirls of ice and snowflakes at the edge of his blade and Victor has to commend the video editor’s attention to detail. Yuuri is a vision, honestly, and that’s not just his sleep deprivation talking. Victor has been around enough model-esque types to know exactly what he prefers — that quiet beauty, the kind that asks for nothing but shines brilliantly nonetheless.

A mildly disappointed ‘Aww’ falls from Victor’s lips some ten minutes later when the video returns to Yuuri and his mics; he was rather enjoying the skating montage.

“My friend, Yuuko Nishigori, was thrilled to join me for this video. I’ve linked her social media in the description below, so feel free to follow her coaching journey. And please leave your comments below on whether you’d like to see more of our skating. Yuuko’s daughters have a huge backlog of film that I wouldn’t mind sharing with you all.” Yuuri drags a now gloved finger down one of the mics and Victor yawns, shivering as he pulls the covers all the way to his nose.

“Now, sit back or lie down, and enjoy the top three triggers from the last month. All you have to do is close your eyes, take a deep breath and relax. Sleep well everyone, and see you soon. Goodnight.”

“G’night, Yuuri.” Victor mumbles, eyes drawing down as new sounds fill his ears. He vaguely thinks to rummage in the side table for his earphones, but his body won’t cooperate, swotting away all signals that require him to stir from his cocoon. Makkachin wiggles into his side and he snuggles closer to his oversized pillow. The blueprint designs for Moiety’s new virtual reality headset fills his mind, as always, but as the minutes pass, Victor finds large chunks of it concealed in black. His lips part as though to question the missing pieces but the haze only grows stronger, pulling him deeper and deeper away from the bustle of his thoughts.

He blearily glances up to see Yuuri lighting a marbled candle, nail scratching slowly along the ridges of a rather thin igniter. He taps a slow tune against the outer glass, pausing as he kindles the three wicks in easy succession; the crackle climbs under Victor’s skin, and Yuuri’s soft smile melts his insides. There’s no fight he can put up against such a magical combination (not that he wants to), so he surrenders to the dark, nothing but the disarming tint of blue-rimmed glasses following him into his dreams.

 

* * *

The spacious bedroom is suffused pale yellow when Victor finally wakes, Makkachin licking urgently at his dangling arm. There’s a damp circle next to his open mouth and he can only imagine the sleep lines grooved into his face. Victor rolls away from it with a “‘kay, ‘kay. One second, girl”, listening to the growing roar of the leaf-blower outside as his senses come back online. It doesn't take long for him to slide off the bed and bend forward to touch his toes, laughing as Makkachin’s face gets lost in his pendulous hair, the platinum like glitter against her chestnut coat.

“What time is it, girl?” Victor wonders aloud, noting that he feels much better than he had the previous morning. His body isn’t protesting his motions or giving off rousing siren alerts, and there’s no stampeding headache that usually follows his faulty sleeping patterns. He straightens and takes his phone, smiling gratefully when it unlocks to one of Yuuri’s videos. Youtube’s autoplay suspended at some point while he was asleep, and the paused frame shows Yuuri sitting in front of a blurred salon, scissors in hand.

He’s about to restart the video and admire the green screen effect more closely when the time in the upper right corner catches his eye. _What the fuck?_ Victor balks, blinks, and brings the screen within two inches of his face.

It’s four in the afternoon.

He's been asleep for twelve hours.

 

* * *

**California**

**One month later**

Yuuri reaches to the heavens, bedazzled t-shirt riding high over his soft stomach. He stumbles from the bed, slipping on his glasses and scratching persistently at his backside, frown quirking into something less daunting as the itch subsides. Phichit grunts behind him, still submerged in an expanse of linens and pillows that seem to have multiplied overnight. Not to mention the thin layer of glitter and glitzy props that covers just about every inch of Yuuri’s bedroom. Yuuri quietly chuckles as he surveys the damage. He’s not surprised in the least; this is typically how any night with The King ends, and Yuuri wouldn’t have it any other way.

Phichit’s DJ-ing is a capital ‘E’ experience, one that takes him globetrotting with celebrities and musicians alike; and as his best friend, Yuuri has VIP access to all of his shows. Naturally, he attends as many as he can, both as downtime and as research for his ASMR videos (and, c’mon, who doesn’t want to party with Jonathan Van Ness?!). It’s also decidedly less risky than skating with Yuuko at her home rink at Ice Castle. Yuuri shifts his weight from one foot to the other, pressing a hand against his left butt cheek with a faint grimace. There’s a bit of an ache there still, a souvenir from him attempting a toe loop a few nights ago. Yuuko squealed upon his impact and dashed out of her layback spin to help him up. Her daughters, the intrepid triplets Axel, Lutz and Loop begged him to leave the mishap in his latest ASMR upload – “Comedy gold!” they insisted in emotional unison – but Yuuri shook his head and adopted his best take of a stern face.

“Fine.” Lutz griped. “Wouldn't want to ruin your aesthetic.”

Yuuri winked at Yuuko as he casually tapped a blade against the ice. “Well, the rules wouldn't apply to a blooper video, would it? Just keep an eye out for anything too, ah, obvious. Deal?”

He’s heard his share of emphatic cheers from the triplets, and his approval then brought some of their loudest. As young as they are, their creative process is something Yuuri treasures above most people he’s worked with in the past; that, and their remarkable penchant for tact. Perhaps what fuels their imagination the most is that all of Yuuri’s ASMR videos, not just the skating ones, are ‘hiding in plain sight’. Whatever the basis for their brilliance, Yuuko and her husband, Takeshi, are the only persons that rival him in fierce support of their daughter’s hobby. And now, thanks to their foresight in capturing him and Yuuko on the ice, Yuuri has a slew of new and novel content for his channel.

Ever since he posted that first skating video, his viewers clamored for more. From praise-filled Youtube comments to a flare of Patreon requests, it seemed like everyone was swept off their feet, all landing on an irresistible cloud. Of relaxation, of course, and not their asses, like Yuuri. It’s a welcome response, a relieving one if he’s being honest. Running his channel is definitely an adventure, and incorporating bits and bobs from his unorthodox life is never an easy feat for him. But even though the doubt might speak volumes, in the quiet of his studio, when there’s nothing but him in his element, the strength of his heart is charmed and unwavering.

Said studio is an old banquet room that his parents no longer use since they expanded the Yutopia hot springs in his Japanese hometown of Hasetsu. That branch of the inn remains blessedly serene, save for the inventory and stock check that usually happens on the floor below. No matter since his cosy atelier is easily soundproofed and no one but his family ventures upstairs when he drops by.

A mischievous twinkle captures Yuuri’s mouth as he gazes out the window to another beautiful Californian sunrise. He’ll need to put aside some more time for them in the coming months, outside of his channel obligations; Mari is set to take over management of Yutopia soon, and his parents are putting the finishing touches on plans for a weeks-long cruise as the start to their retirement. _Well_ _deserved_ , he thinks as he trots to the bathroom, still yawning and tilting his body until he hears the cracks. As someone who's dabbled in kinesiology in the name of ASMR innovation, Yuuri knows exactly how to bend and twist himself for that soothing release.

“Very. Loud.” Comes the grainy whine of a man still clinging to some fantasy of a dream; a hand emerges from the burrito of sheets to wave annoyance in his direction. “Please. Stop.”

Yuuri gives one final tilt of his neck, a movement that induces three consecutive clicks, all of them mingling with a litany of curses that has Yuuri doubling over with laughter as he flips the toilet seat up and sighs, body feeling lighter already. He's not as hungover as Phichit; his motor functions are in check, and he can think a little further than the greased-filled breakfast he's going to devour as soon as possible. The afternoon might bring a headache or two, but it’s more than worth it; Phichit’s sold-out gig in L.A. last night still echoes sensationally in Yuuri’s bloodstream.

“Seriously, how are you this awake?” Phichit complains indistinctly. “I do this for a living and I’m pretty sure I’m the living embodiment of death right now.”

Yuuri washes his hands, shaking water onto the carpet on his way back to bed; he hops in next to Phichit and ruffles his friend’s hair with a wide grin that Yuuri knows Phichit can’t see, but he surely knows it’s there.

“I drank as much as you, so clearly it's decided which one of us can hold our al–”

A pillow comes cruising towards his face, splattering him in overused fluff. Phichit springs forth from his blankets, standing on his side of the bed with two perfectly manicured eyebrows dangerously narrowed at him. His jeweled crop-top, initially a soft, comforting blue, radiates sunshine to match his fresh burst of energy; Phichit is immediately sidetracked by the color change, mouth curving into a gleeful smile.

“This will _never_ get old.” Phichit smooths the fabric and beams at Yuuri. “Thanks for the experimenting with my outfits, Yuuri. The colors have been much more vibrant in your last two tests.”

Yuuri dips his head, blushing pink as he smiles. “You act like I’m the one doing you a favor. This was your idea, remember? All I did was adapt a few of my s–”

Phichit tuts, grabbing a handful of shimmering confetti from the nightstand and tossing it towards Yuuri. “Learn to take a compliment, will you?”

“Okay, okay. You’re welcome.” Yuuri says, dusting paper from his hair with a laugh. Phichit climbs back into bed with him, fishing his phone from somewhere among the blankets. They peruse Phichit’s Instagram, and the never ending stream of photos and video from Phichit’s set; even more entertaining is Phichit’s gallery, which has several hundred new photos chronicling their rollicking night.

“I recognize so many of these people!” Phichit says as they scroll through a number of candid group photos and selfies. “I can’t believe they came all this way for a one-night-only booking. Look, that’s Christophe Giacometti! I know he attends most of my shows because he’s head of Hero Digital now, but fuck, I am _not_ complaining.”

“Hero Digital is your customer experience partner, right?”

“Yup! They’ve been asking me about this,” Phichit points to his crop-top, “and some _other_ things for quite some time. Right now, they think I have a very wealthy and recluse sugar daddy who likes to spoil me with over-the-top and completely exploratory,” he raises his hands to airquote, “tech.”

Yuuri snorts. “You’re fucking ridiculous, you know that?”

“Now, where do you think I learned that from, Mister ASMRtist?”

“Coming from The King, who is renowned for his circus-inspired performances, that’s one hell of a compliment.” Yuuri winks and props himself against the headboard, sliding the takeaway menu for the nearby bakery out from under a half-filled bottle of tequila. “Where did that come from? I know neither of us drink it.”

“I have no idea. I think it was in my hand when we got in, and I didn't have the energy to question it. Still don't.” Phichit claps his hands together. “So, what are we getting?”

A minute ago, Yuuri had every intention of calling for large servings of crispy bacon and runny eggs, and finishing up the order with an enthusiastic ‘surprise me’, as was tradition. But why settle for that when they could have something much more satisfying? He discards the menu, and swings his legs off of the bed, flashing a telling smirk to Phichit over his shoulder.

“Think you can stomach some katsudon?”

Phichit stares at Yuuri before keeling over with a definite ‘You’re my fucking hero, Katsuki!’. Yuuri’s laughter echoes as he steps lightly out of his room, down the stairs two at a time, and into...Yutopia’s moonlit kitchen. It’s a short search through one of the industrial fridges and soon, Yuuri eagerly hugs a few marked containers of cooked rice and seasoned tonkatsu to his chest. He rummages in his pocket for a call-sign of some kind, and finds a rumpled ticket from Phichit’s show which he attaches to the fridge with one of his mom’s shachihoko magnets. A quick check that he has enough food, and a full contented smile later, he turns on his heel...and strolls into his own kitchen in California.

“I’m back, Phichit!”

“Coming!”

That’s one way to describe Phichit bounding and sliding on the wood floor with all the coordination of the winded country flags and scraps of paper that are swept up in his arms. Yuuri lights the stove, and gathers some eggs and a skillet, watching in amusement as Phichit lays them out on the small island; his eyebrow perks when Phichit hands over his phone.

“It was on the floor under all of this. Holy shit, the haul gets bigger every time.” Phichit plucks a creased but sturdy card from the stash and giggles. “This has an actual sketch of the venue. That is some...dedication...” Yuuri can see Phichit squinting suspiciously in his peripheral, and he casually shifts his position away from the scrutiny. “Yuuri.”

“Yes?” Is Yuuri’s innocent response.

“What are you doing?”

With his back fully to Phichit now, Yuuri says: “Nothing. Just deleting the new adds in my contact list.”

“Yuuri Katsuki!” Phichit makes a grab for the phone but Yuuri dodges and sticks his tongue out. “They’re not going to bite you, you know. And, for the record, at least one of them _should_ before you get rid of the numbers!”

Yuuri sighs. Being bitten doesn’t sound terrible but Yuuri remembers most of the people he met last night and not a single one held his interest for longer than a minute. People are hard as is without the interactions needed to be forced. Not to mention Yuuri’s...proclivities? Complexities? Eccentricities? There really is no way to properly explain himself without introducing a few zillion hurdles and the last thing anyone deserves is Yuuri’s lies. If that means no dating and no sex, well, there’s a familiar flowery glass companion tucked away upstairs that’s already ready to give him some much needed relief.

“Don’t look at me like that, Phi, you know it's not worth it.” Yuuri shrugs, and deletes the last number from someone named Victor. Phichit purses his lips, his steups as loud and telling as any islander; Phichit's time in the Caribbean has certainly upped his sass. “Look, find me someone who loves dogs, has an unexplainable thing for tan trench coats, and won’t go screaming in the opposite direction when they’re exposed to my specific branch of surprises, and I’ll consider talking to them, I promise.”

Phichit rolls his eyes. “Uh huh. I'll produce a song just for the two of you when my search is over.”

“Will katsudon and Netflix make up for it?”

Phichit makes a show of mulling things over, grin eventually tugging at his exasperated frown. “Cheesy romance movies or I'll never forgive you.”

With two steaming bowls of their re-heated breakfast propped on a dakimakura, a gift from Yuuko after she did voice work for an award-winning figure skating anime in Japan, Yuuri and Phichit decide on Ten Things I Hate About You. The movie is intersped with Phichit pointing out possible ASMR techniques, and Yuuri commenting on songs Phichit might be able to include in his some of his upcoming mixes.

“What are you up to this week?” Phichit asks as they admire a long-haired and decidedly glorious Heath Ledger negotiate with baby Joseph Gordon-Levitt.  

“I have two collaborations scheduled, so I'll be working on those videos with the triplets. I’ll also be helping out at the inn while Mari recruits a few new people. We want to be fully covered because tourism in the area has been growing, especially with Yuuko coaching full-time at Ice Castle. What about you?”

“I have another gig in the Bahamas this weekend, then I'm in Miami and New York for promo parties. Let me know which ones you want to come to, and I’ll forward you an invite. Kind of wish I had time to stick around and visit your family. I would kill for another ten bowls, minimum, of your mom's katsudon.” Phichit shovels another moan-inducing spoonful into his mouth. “Speaking of Yuuko, have you gotten any more feedback on your skating videos?”

“It's _insane_.” Yuuri shows Phichit his inbox, flicking through the hundreds of notifications that he’s barely scratched the surface of; he has his work cut out for him later. “My patrons, and Twitch donations have skyrocketed too, even though I only stream once per week.”

He scans some of his most recent emails, face flushed with the phenomenal positivity. One in particular though, makes him choke:

_Hello, Yuuri! I discovered ASMR for the first time a few weeks ago, and your videos have been a lifesaver! Because of you, I didn't fuck up an important interview and I've been sleeping regularly even though I'm still sometimes a stressed mess. Please know how grateful I am, and thank you for creating such amazing content! I became a Patron a few days ago, but it unfortunately doesn’t allow one-time payments, so I came to your Twitch to send you this. Thanks again, and take care <3 _

Yuuri balks. That’s a heck of a lot of zeros. It’s...no, _no,_ this is an obvious error. No one has ever contributed this generously before, not outside of his sponsors.

“Phichit, what the hell?!” Yuuri pauses the movie, and shoves his phone into Phichit’s face until he’s cross-eyed. “That is not a real number!”

“ _Wow._ ” Phichit whistles. “Makka29? They’re either very rich or were very drunk. Either way, great taste in ASMRtists.”

“How am I supposed to accept this?” Yuuri sets aside his katsudon, and pushes his glasses up to rub his eyes. “This is too generous. They made a mistake, there’s no other explanation.”

“Conspiracy theories aside, this is your job.” Phichit reminds him. “I understand how you feel and if it'll make you feel better, then check in with the donor. But you have a no-refund policy for a reason– _Oi!_ ”

Yuuri closes his eyes, ignoring Phichit’s abrupt outburst. He’s always felt a certain level of modesty when it comes to his unconventional career, and while he’s jumped through the hoops of unholy squeals and weak knees from the support he’s been given over the years, the one donation is rapidly carting him back to square one–

“Yuuri! A little help please!”

“Wha…” Yuuri blinks and looks around, then _down_ to Phichit whose hand is securely wrapped around Yuuri’s ankle. He groans, taking a series of deep breaths as he comes down from his impromptu levitation, and huffing when he unceremoniously tumbles onto the cushions.

“Earth to Yuuri?” Phichit jokes.

Yuuri pouts. “Very funny. Good name for a song, though.” He toys with his phone, sneaking a look at the message, just in case he read it wrong the first time (he didn’t). “Makka29, huh?” Yuuri combs a hand through his hair and mutters: “You better be worth this bout of accidental magic.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments, kudos, and love welcome! <3
> 
> If you haven't heard, I've left both Tumblr and Twitter, so feel free to reach out to me in the comments :)


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